


Doctor's Note

by afacadeoffeelings



Category: Transformers: More than Meets the Eye, transformers: idw
Genre: M/M, Slash, Spike and Valve, Sticky Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, interfacing, overloads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afacadeoffeelings/pseuds/afacadeoffeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Drift goes to Ratchet for troubles getting adequate rest during a recharge cycle, he divulges other needs he wants the medic to attend to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doctor's Note

Pacing back and forth as quietly as he could, Drift cast a nervous, wide-opticed glance at the shut door to the med bay. Ratchet had been working particularly long hours, even for the medic. Initially, Drift had simply missed seeing the medic around, but now, both concern and a sincere sense of absence had started to gnaw at him. It had started to seep into his recharge cycles, even, and now...here he was.

Clenching and unclenching his fists quickly, Drift looked again at the door as he walked by it. What if Ratchet was with a patient? Or what if he was in the middle of something that required his absolute focus?

Frowning, Drift turned sharply and continued pacing back and forth in front of the door. He grumbled under his breath about his lack of nerve, but continued pacing.

“I don’t want to bother him, but-”

“For the love of Primus-” The door to the med bay suddenly slid open, and a tired, irritated looking Ratchet frowned at Drift. “Are you intending to wear a path in front of the door?”

Starting slightly, Drift looked at Ratchet, blue optics wide. He managed a quick flash of a nervous smile, but all Drift could do was shake his head. Making a short sigh, Ratchet tilted his head to the side.

“Did you need something?”

“I...I’m not recharging well,” Drift blurted out quickly. It wasn’t a complete lie, even if Drift already knew the reason why.

Ratchet studied Drift for a few moments, then nodded and stepped aside.

“Then come in. I certainly can’t help you if you just stay out here.”

Darting in, Drift stopped and glanced around the med bay quickly. It was empty, save for the stack of datapads on Ratchet’s desk.

“Have a seat,” Ratchet said in a monotone, absently motioning to one of the medical tables.

Clambering up, Drift fought the urge to keep his gaze locked on Ratchet. The medic looked tired. Well, more so than one would expect from Ratchet, and Drift had to bite the tip of his glossa between his dentae to keep from asking what was going on.

“When did this start?” Ratchet asked, his gaze set on a datapad, rather than Drift.

“My what?”

Frowning slightly, Ratchet glanced up and eyed Drift.

“Your problem with recharging…”

“Oh!” Again, Drift bit down on his glossa. When had Ratchet seemed to disappear from the ship…? “A...a couple weeks ago.”

“Hm… Any changes in diet?”

“No.”

“Physical activity?”

“No.”

“Any other symptoms?”

“Not really.”

Again, Ratchet looked up at Drift, looking slightly irritated.

“I’d prefer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.”

“Well...um…” Drift slouched slightly, looking away. He hadn’t been able to recharge because it seemed like his sleep was being interrupted every cycle by dreams. Dreams involving himself...and a certain medic that was currently eyeing him. “...I can get to sleep fine. It’s just...staying asleep that’s a problem.”

“Okay,” Ratchet responded, his gaze falling back to the datapad as he edited the information on it. “Is the reason physical? Or mental? If it’s the latter, I’ll need to refer you to Rung.”

“No! It’s...well, it could be mental. But…it’s the physical...part...that wakes me up.”

“And that would be...?”

Averting his gaze from Ratchet, Drift shifted uncomfortably on the table. His relationship with Ratchet had always been a bit of an odd one. The medic typically had far more pressing concerns, and Drift’s attitude and exuberance tended to seemingly grate on Ratchet’s nerves more than anything.

Even so, they’d had a few, private moments. Moments that Drift sincerely missed. Confessing his feelings had actually been the easiest part, as Ratchet had approached it as anyone would have expected. Pragmatically and methodically.

Intimacy, however, had been a whole new game altogether. Ironically enough, Drift had been the one that was awkward in the moment. He had been so flustered that their first kiss had been more of him quickly pecking the corner of Ratchet’s mouth...much to Ratchet’s frustration. The medic had then promptly grasped the sides of Drift’s face and firmly kissing him. To which Drift had been so surprised he’d had to lean against Ratchet just to stay standing.

It’d gotten a bit better, sure, but the subject of actually fragging the other had never been broached, and Drift hadn’t planned on ever doing so. That would have to be something that Ratchet brought up. Or, at least, that had been Drift’s intent…

“I...I…”

“For Primus’ sake, Drift,” Ratchet grumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Whatever it is, I can almost guarantee you I’ve heard of it before.”

“It’s like there’s a lot of tension…!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Ratchet’s tone returned to normal, gaze back to the datapad. “What sort of physical tension? And where?”

There was no way Drift could bring himself to answer Ratchet’s questions. The words absolutely refused to form, but Drift managed to wait until Ratchet frowned and looked up at him, obviously getting frustrated with each unanswered question. Once he had Ratchet’s gaze, Drift looked down between his legs quickly, feeling his face flush a pale blue in embarrassment.

Looking confused for a moment, Ratchet studied Drift for a few moments, then realization dawned on the medic. He sighed heavily, looking exasperated, before shaking his head and looking back at the datapad.

“Okay, so it’s sexual tension. Is it causing any sort of discomfort?”

Drift kept his gaze down, his embarrassment only intensifying. Ratchet had no problem with the issue, even if he was the cause of it, because he could whittle it down to straight, medical terms. Drift was the one waking up in the middle of a recharge cycle; his thoughts a jumbled mess, emotions stressed to the point of breaking, and his body tense and aching for release.

“As embarrassing as this may be for you, withholding information does neither of us any good,” Ratchet sighed. He’d had to remind more than a few of his patients of that, and it simply came with the territory of being a doctor.

“It’s not...painful, I guess,” Drift muttered. “Just...awkward.”

“Is it something you’re able to take care of?”

Now he knew his face was flushed, and Drift ducked his head down quickly, managing a short nod.

Oh yes, it’d been something he’d taken care of. Something he’d indulged himself with in the privacy of his own quarters. Getting rid of the tension had been far easier once he’d let his thoughts drift to where they’d wanted to go. That it was Ratchet helping relieve that ache, his fingers expertly knowing where to tease at, mouth locked with Drift’s, his firm-

Drift immediately snapped himself back to the moment. Technically, Ratchet was helping with the tension, but not in the way Drift had dreamt.

“And that’s not painful, correct?”

“No,” Drift mumbled, starting to feel a bit miserable.

“Is there a cause that you can think of? Or is this something that just seems to happen on its own?”

The questions caught Drift a bit off-guard, and he looked up, obviously confused.

“These kinds of things can just happen on their own?” he inquired, features scrunching up a little.

“Yes, they can,” Ratchet replied with a nod.

“Oh, well...no. There’s a cause.”

“Physical?”

“Dreams.”

Ratchet ‘hmm’ed at the information for a moment, glancing over the datapad. He then looked back up at Drift, who had let his gaze fall back to the ground. The ‘bot looked ready to try and dart out of the med bay at a moment’s notice, and as frustrated as he may have been with Drift, Ratchet felt a twinge of remorse.

Regardless what others, or, more importantly, Drift, may have thought, Drift’s feelings for Ratchet were not unrequited. The medic found an odd sense of comfort in the other ‘bot’s company, and Drift’s infallible optimism seemed to keep Ratchet from getting too far into his own, far less lighter, thoughts. And even Drift’s seeming naive awkwardness when they had a few moments of privacy seemed endearing.

“Am I to assume these dreams involve the two of us?” Ratchet sighed, setting aside the datapad.

“I’ll just...I can leave,” Drift managed to say, not really wanting to look Ratchet in the optic.

“That’s not what I asked, Drift.”

“...yes.”

“Anybody else?”

Indignation took over, and Drift frowned at Ratchet. Rolling his optics, Ratchet crossed his arms loosely.

“I’m asking from a medical perspective. No need to get your bolts in a bunch.”

“Oh,” Drift answered sheepishly. “Not...really. Maybe twice there was...somebody...else with...us.”

Ratchet raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Just how much vigor are you giving me credit for?”

Drift could only make a few sputtered, unintelligible sounds, his face flushing once again. Ratchet kept a deadpan expression, eyebrow still slightly quirked.

“Well, in my dreams, a lot,” Drift finally answered snippily, looking away.

“So long as you understand they’re dreams.”

Sighing, Drift slouched over again, shoulders falling.

“Right. Just dreams.”

Ratchet was quiet for a few moments, then looked over the datapad.

“In regards to your condition, we have a few options.”

Drift lifted his gaze slightly in response.

“There are a couple of medications that would put you into a dreamless recharge cycle-”

Drift made a low grunt in response. As embarrassing and sometimes frustrating as his dreams may have been, he didn’t want to get rid of them altogether. It was rather nice to have Ratchet that close, that deep, even if it was strictly in his dreams.

“-I can refer you to Rung for a few sessions to work through whatever feelings you’re associating with them-”

The panicked look that Drift gave Ratchet was answer enough.

“-or I can take a slightly more hands-on approach,” Ratchet finished.

Tilting his head to the side, Drift gave Ratchet an inquisitive look. A small burst of hopefulness started to tug at his insides, but Drift didn’t dare feed it. He doubted he could take any further embarrassment at this point.

Taking a few strides towards Drift, Ratchet hooked a finger under the ‘bot’s chin, pulling him close.

“Medically speaking, I believe that you getting fragged a few times might help relieve that tension,” Ratchet said, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Drift’s optics widened and he made a small ‘oh’ noise right before Ratchet’s lips caught his. The medic had always had no problem taking the lead, and now was no different. His kiss was sincere, but gentle, and Drift let his shaky hands grip at the back of Ratchet’s neck. Oh how he so badly wanted to pull Ratchet onto him, lay back, and let the doctor work his proverbial magic.

But that would have been far too much. Too much too fast.

Ratchet kissed him again, this time a bit firmer, and Drift dared to let a small moan slip from him, his glossa brushing against Ratchet’s lower lip. Ratchet grinned and caught the tip of Drift’s glossa between his lips, letting his own flick across the tip. Drift made another moan, this time a little louder, and scooted forward, trying to press his body against Ratchet’s as much as he dared.

“Now, now,” Ratchet murmured, his voice low and sending small shivers down Drift’s back, “I know I’ve been rather...inattentive.”

“Hmn…,” Drift whined quietly, trying to nuzzle his face against Ratchet’s. “No, no...I’m just-”

“Let me finish, Drift,” Ratchet interjected softly. “I’m quite aware I haven’t been around as much as you seem you would like. It’s a hazard of the trade, I suppose. But I’ve got no excuse, so I’ll offer none. However,” Ratchet’s hands lightly traced along Drift’s sides. However weathered and worn his hands may have been, his fingertips seemed to send small jolts of electricity through Drift’s body, as though Drift could sense the skill that was behind them, “...perhaps I can make up for a bit of time lost.”

As he finished his sentence, Ratchet lightly gripped at Drift’s aft, the same ghost of a smirk appearing when Drift started. Drift studied Ratchet’s expression for a few moments, a shy, but wide, grin finally breaking across his features.

“Just...one more?” he asked, nervously tugging at Ratchet.

“Pesky little Drift,” Ratchet teased, letting Drift pull him back down for another, long kiss.

Reluctantly, Ratchet broke their lock and stood back a bit, a familiar, clinical expression settling on his features.

“You do know I’ve got a couple of questions if we’re going to do this.”

Euphoria and excitement were still fogging Drift’s thoughts, and he gave Ratchet a small smile and nodded.

“Of course.”

“Very good, then. Your last checkup came out fine, so that actually leaves me with one question.”

“Hmn?”

“I trust your gestation chamber seals are up to date as well, correct?”

That snapped Drift back to reality and fast. Startled flusteration quickly washed over his features, and he made a short, indignant scoff. Ratchet gave him an unamused look, clearly unfazed.

“Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, Drift? If not, I’ve got the codes available.”

“They’re-they’re up to date!” Drift stammered, mildly irritated. Leave it to Ratchet to break him out of the moment.

“Then that should be it. Should you need my attention in regards to your condition, come by my quarters. Knock first, if you would. Did you have any other questions in regards to my advice?”

Drift stared at Ratchet, somewhere between frustrated and in awe of how the medic could ask some of the most personal questions without batting an optic. Frowning, Drift shook his head.

“No, no other questions,” he responded, his thoughts already turning on how he could get the medic to be even as half as ‘vigorous’ as he had been in his dreams.

Ratchet nodded and motioned to the door, picking up another datapad and looking over its contents. Drift scooted off the table and marched out with a sense of purpose, grumbling under his breath as he went. He’d been so off in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Ratchet watching him, or more aptly, his lower half, as he left the med bay.

****  
  
  


Groaning, Drift rolled over on the recharge bed, glaring at the wall. He couldn’t seem to initiate a recharge cycle to save his life at this point. Every circuit and sensor pleaded with him to get some rest, but for all of his want, Drift couldn’t seem to. His thoughts were focused solely on Ratchet. And it was a mix of desire and hurt, neither of which were conducive to a decent rest.

Something gnawed at Drift. A deep worry that Ratchet, regardless of what he’d said earlier that day, was just humoring Drift. A plaything to keep the stress levels at bay. Worse yet, what if Drift had set himself up for that? His awkward naivety had finally gotten to Ratchet’s last nerve and the medic was simply waiting for a decent time to let Drift down gently.

Whining and covering his optics with his forearm, Drift rolled onto his back. There was no way he was going to be able to get any rest at this rate. If anything, he was just frustrating himself and further tiring himself out.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that he’d missed a recharge cycle, not to mention it was at least keeping those damnable dreams at bay.

What’s the worst that could happen?

****  
  
  


“Drift!”

The sparring sword cracked across Drift’s lower jaw, sending him sprawling across the mat. His senses spun dizzyingly and Drift struggled to get back to his feet. Rodimus was already at his side, helping him up.

“I thought you’d block that!” Rodimus cried. “I even slowed down!”

“I’m...I’m fine,” Drift replied, waving his hand. He could feel mech fluid welling up in his mouth, and more than anything, his still spinning processor couldn’t handle being yelled at by Rodimus.

“Ah, you’re bleeding,” Rodimus groaned. “I must’ve smacked you good and hard.”

“I’ll be fine,” Drift repeated, frowning at how his voice sounded slightly muffled. His jaw hurt something fierce, and right now he just wanted to try and get his senses to stop going around and around.

“Yeah, right,” Rodimus scoffed. “C’mon, we’d better get you to the med bay and make sure everything’s still in one piece.”

“I said, I’ll be fine,” Drift snapped. “I’m just...tired.”

Rodimus regarded Drift with a bit of an annoyed look, crossing his arms.

“You always get this snappy when you don’t get an energon cookie and a nap?”

Drift started to retort, but a sharp stab of pain in his jaw quickly silenced him. Instead, he gave Rodimus a quick glare before storming out of the sparring room, intent on saving what was left of his dignity. He could hear Rodimus grumbling under his breath, but Drift paid it little heed. Neither of them were in the best of moods, and it probably hadn’t been the best of ideas for them to try and make their moods better by sparring.

Drift was exhausted from having not gotten a wink of sleep, and Rodimus was in a foul mood after having dealt with one of Ultra Magnus’s lectures about keeping the living quarters clean and tidy. Neither of them had been really checking their footing or stance, and instead had been trying to blindly beat the other with the sparring swords.

When he finally got back to his quarters, Drift plopped down on his recharge bed and gingerly touched his jaw. Needles of pain shot up from where his fingertips touched, and Drift made a quiet whimper, quickly withdrawing his hand. Mech fluid had dripped over his bottom lip, and it took everything he had not to make some noise of pain when he used the back of his hand to wipe it away.

Sighing, Drift stared at the faintly glowing liquid, exhaustion and self-pity sitting heavy on him. Who was he kidding? He’d need to go to the med bay for this sooner or later, but Drift really didn’t want to face Ratchet at this point. Not with the state of mind he was in.

To top it all off, the most frustrating part had come right before Drift had resigned himself to not getting any sleep. That it was all in his head and that Ratchet, for his part, was simply being Ratchet.

Maybe Drift should have gone to see Rung…

****  
  
  


Finally, when he couldn’t take the pain any more, Drift got up from his recharge bed and made his way to Ratchet’s quarters. It was late enough that the medic would have most likely retired to his quarters. And that was saying something these days…

Stopping at the door, Drift rapped his still mech fluid-speckled knuckles against the door.

“Yes?” Ratchet called.

“...it’s me,” Drift murmured, wincing at the dull ache and how awkward his voice sounded. Rodimus may have managed to even do a bit of damage to his vocal processor.

“Drift?” The door opened and Ratchet’s optics widened slightly at the sight of the other ‘bot. “What in the name of the Matrix did you manage to do to yourself?”

“...I got hit when-”

“Save it,” Ratchet interjected when he heard Drift’s distorted voice. “You can explain later. Come in.”

Borderline shuffling in, Drift glanced around the medic’s quarters. They were neatly kept, and surprisingly small but cozy. Collections of datapads lined various shelves, and there were a few holographic images of landscapes from various planets.

“Over here,” Ratchet coaxed, guiding Drift to the small, but sterile-looking wash room. He motioned to the edge of a tub. “It’s not the most comfortable, but sit, please.”

Obeying, Drift glanced inside the tub. He was somewhat surprised to see that Ratchet even had one in his quarters.

“Look at me.”

Turning his gaze, Drift felt his chest tighten being this close to Ratchet. A very large part of him wanted to simply bury his face against Ratchet’s neck, regardless of the possible pain, and just...rest. He just wanted a bit of rest right now, that was all.

For as late as it was, Ratchet seemed surprisingly unperturbed by Drift’s sudden arrival. He had brought a small medical kit from another room, and, with a short grunt, knelt down in front of Drift. Setting the medical kit between them, Ratchet turned his gaze back to Drift.

“Let me know if this hurts,” he started, lifting his hands to try and grasp Drift’s jaw.

“Hmn-nh!” Drift cried suddenly, shaking his head. Two bolts of pain shot through his head, making Drift quickly regret the action. Whimpering, he closed his optics, trying to momentarily block out the pain.

“That sore, is it?”

Drift looked at Ratchet and nodded. Sighing, Ratchet nodded and rifled around in the medical kit. He produced what looked like a small, chemical soaked pad that was tightly packaged.

“This is a mild anesthesia,” he explained, opening the package. “Interferes with the way your sensors read pain. Should take the sting off enough to let me take a look.”

Nodding, Drift held his head steady as Ratchet swabbed his injured jaw. Once the medic was done, he stuffed it back in the ripped packaging and tossed it to a waste bin. And, of course, the waste bin had a lid to prevent tampering.

“Come here,” Ratchet said, his voice gentle. He leaned forward and lightly kissed Drift’s forehead, and Drift felt the same want to just bury himself in Ratchet’s arms come back with a vengeance. “Is it taking any effect yet?”

“I...think so,” Drift said. The pain was subsiding, and in its wake it was leaving a dull ache that just seemed to make his jaw stiff. “It doesn’t hurt. Just...sore. Really sore. Tastes kind of funny, too.”

“Sounds about right, then,” Ratchet stated, the clinical tone lacing his words. “Now then, let me see that jaw…”

Ratchet clasped his hands lightly on the sides of Drift’s helm, tilting Drift’s head slowly from side to side, inspecting where the sparring sword had struck him. He made a soft, ‘tsk’ing noise, his thumb grazing tenderly across the impact point.

“Whoever did this got you good, didn’t they?” Ratchet commented.

“Was Rodimus,” Drift mumbled.

“Rodimus did this to you?” Ratchet inquired, incredulity creeping into his voice.

“We were sparring.”

“This late at night?”

“No. Earlier today.”

“...and you’re just now coming to me about this?”

The question made Drift drop his gaze. Sighing, he cautiously nuzzled the uninjured side of his face against Ratchet’s palm. To his credit, Ratchet gently stroked the side of Drift’s helm, his fingertips lightly tracing the finials.

“Let’s get you patched up first,” Ratchet said. “We can talk in a bit.”

Nodding, Drift tilted his head in accordance with Ratchet’s hands. The medic frowned, studying the injury. They didn’t have much more time until the anesthesia started to wear off, and what Ratchet was about to do would require it to still be in full effect.

“You’re not going to appreciate this, I’m afraid,” Ratchet stated, standing up. “But Rodimus managed to displace your jaw a bit. I’m going to get it back in place.”

Drift looked up at Ratchet in alarm, a quiet whine escaping his vocal processor.

“Relax and hold still,” Ratchet ordered softly, grasping Drift’s jaw firmly.

He started to grasp at Ratchet’s hip, feeling rather nervous about what was going to happen, but Drift stopped himself. At least, he did until Ratchet grasped his hand and set it on his hip.

“You’re fine, Drift.”

Clutching at Ratchet’s hip, Drift forced himself to focus on staying calm.

“On three,” Ratchet murmured. There was a bit of a pause, and then… “Three.”

Drift barely had time to go “Hrm?” before Ratchet wrenched his jaw back into place. Pain crackled through Drift’s helm to the point he would have sworn Rodimus had hit him again, and he yelped, his grip on Ratchet’s hip intensifying sharply.

“There we go….” Ratchet sounded rather pleased with himself, and quickly went back to inspecting Drift’s jaw. “How does that feel?”

“Owww!” Drift cried, his hand clasping over Ratchet’s and pressing it against his jaw. It was only then that he realized that a considerable amount of the pain had subsided. He looked up at Ratchet and managed a half-grin. “...better.”

Smiling faintly at Drift, Ratchet then got to work patching up the residual damage. He carefully cleaned away the dried mech fluid, even the droplets on the back of Drift’s hand, all while Drift watched him in silence. Ratchet had barely sounded irritated at all throughout all of this, and Drift was starting to feel more and more foolish for having not come to the medic sooner. He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the tub, and Ratchet made a short noise of acknowledgment.

“I know,” he murmured, finishing up the last of the repairs. “I’m almost done.”

Drift sat still for a few more minutes before Ratchet stood up straight and nodded.

“There. That should feel considerably better.”

Carefully working his jaw, Drift smiled half-heartedly up at Ratchet before standing up. He watched as Ratchet carefully put away the rest of the medical supplies back into the kit. Once that was done, the medic looked back at Drift.

“Now, then...did you want to talk about why you chose now to come to me?”

Drift stared at Ratchet for a long moment. He started to shake his head, but something stopped him and he nodded quickly.

“Is it in regards to what we discussed yesterday?”

Again, Drift nodded.

“Huh, pesky, little Drift,” Ratchet muttered with a grin.

Looking up at Ratchet, unaware of the hopeful glint that was in his optics, Drift took a slow step towards the medic. Ratchet chuckled quietly and pulled Drift close, gingerly kissing the corner of Drift’s mouth.

“What is it?” he inquired, resting his forehead against Drift’s.

“I...I’m not...that pesky, am I?”

“No, not that pesky,” Ratchet answered.

Ratchet pulled back just enough to look at Drift and give him a knowing smile. Drift studied the smile for a few moments, then leaned forward and softly kissed Ratchet. The dull ache in his jaw warned him to be careful, and to his credit, Ratchet kept relatively still.

Again, Drift kissed Ratchet, this time a little more insistently, and he leaned against the medic, wrapping his arms around Ratchet’s neck. Making a pleased moan, Ratchet returned the kiss with a tentative one of his own, not wanting to aggravate Drift’s jaw. Drift finally gave in and buried his face against Ratchet’s neck, sighing heavily and trying his best to block out the world.

“You’re exhausted,” Ratchet commented softly.

“Mm-hm.” Cautiously, Drift kissed at Ratchet’s neck. “Help me go to sleep?”

“Oh? My patient needs further medical attention?”

“Mm-hm,” Drift replied, feeling that same flash of hopefulness coming back.

“Well, then...we should get you to a recharge bed, first,” Ratchet instructed.

Carefully turning Drift around, Ratchet wrapped his arms around Drift’s waist, spike cap bumping against his aft lightly as he guided him to the recharge bed. Drift didn’t resist in the least, and it took all he had not to leap onto the recharge bed.

“Now then, if you would please have a seat, I’ll be with you momentarily,” Ratchet stated, grinning faintly.

Laughing quietly, Drift obliged, grinning excitedly as he watched Ratchet with tired, blue optics.

“Hmn,” Ratchet muttered, keeping a feigned, clinical tone as he drew close to Drift. “Patient has previous injuries that were tended to, but there is the pressing matter of his inability to properly recharge. After a consultation, the patient opted for a more holistic remedy.”

Hooking a finger gently under Drift’s chin, Ratchet kissed the ‘bot softly, smiling inwardly when he felt Drift practically melt into the kiss.

“So we’ll proceed with treatment,” Ratchet finished, his lips brushing against Drift’s.

“Ratchet…,” Drift moaned quietly, kissing the medic softly. Spreading his legs slowly, he wrapped them around Ratchet’s waist. The action earned a low chuckle from Ratchet, who made a “tsk”ing noise.

“My patient needs a bit of patience,” Ratchet chided, one hand slipping down and pressing against Drift’s warm valve cap.

A short, surprised gasp escaped Drift’s lips and he grinned at Ratchet, the dull ache in his jaw forgotten for the time being. His spark seemed to pulse a bit faster in anticipation, and Drift opened his valve cap.

“Lie back, if you would,” Ratchet said quietly. “And if you would also do the same for your spike cap.”

Once again obliging, Drift leaned back as he opened his spike cap, clutching at the cushioning of the recharge bed. Excitement thrummed at his circuits, and he wriggled around impatiently. Making a quiet scoff, Ratchet carefully slid two fingers into Drift’s valve. He felt his own circuits flare at the surprising amount of lubrication and tautness, and Ratchet reflexively opened his spike cap.

As he felt Ratchet’s fingers slide into him, Drift made a low whine, lifting his hips ever so slightly. Humming quietly, Ratchet pressed his fingertips gently against Drift’s valve wall, expertly teasing at the hypersensitive sensors.

“Ratchet...please…!” Drift gasped, his lips again lifting.

“Now, now, Drift,” Ratchet softly reprimanded. “This sort of treatment you cannot rush.”

Laughing, Drift gently brushed his ankle against Ratchet’s arm, trying to wordlessly coax him on.

“Hmn, I can do that as well,” Ratchet stated, grasping Drift’s ankle with his free hand.

Kissing at the ankle, Ratchet began to slide his fingers in and out of Drift’s tight valve, his own thoughts going to just how that would feel on his spike. Working his kisses up Drift’s leg, listening to the ‘bot gasp and whimper pleadingly, Ratchet nipped teasingly at Drift’s leg, continuing to work his kisses up as far as they would go. When he could go no further, he dragged his glossa along Drift’s inner thigh before turning his attention to Drift’s spike.

Transfluid was already welled up at the tip, and Ratchet licked it away, Drift making a guttural cry in response. Smirking faintly, Ratchet closed his lips around the tip, glossa flicking over the tip again.

“Ohh...Ratchet,” Drift whined again, writhing as much as he dared. “Please...please…”

Sucking on the tip slowly, his fingers sliding in and out of Drift at the same pace, Ratchet watched the younger ‘bot squirm on the recharge bed. The sight and feeling of Drift’s valve had already started the first coils of an overload in the medic, but he kept his focus on Drift. His pesky, warm, and tantalizingly tight, Drift…

His head reflexively pressing against the cushioning, Drift fought to keep his senses in order. Ratchet’s expert fingers were delving into his valve and finding every sensitive spot, but slag it all if Drift didn’t want to feel Ratchet’s spike buried in him. Each thrust drawing his already growing overload closer and closer.

The thought was enough to make Drift whimper again, a pulse of transfluid spattering from his spike. Sounding pleased at the result, Ratchet slowly took the rest of Drift’s spike into his mouth. Moaning audibly, Drift lifted his hips again, a short cry pulling from his vocal processor as Ratchet teasingly gratified the firm spike with his mouth. The medic could taste Drift’s excitement, and he quickened the pace just enough to elicit another short cry and burst of transfluid from Drift.

“Ratch....Ratchet!” Drift panted, his fingers practically clawing at the cushioning. “Primus…! Please! Just...just frag me already, please!”

Chuckling lowly, Ratchet held back for the time being, still letting his glossa stroke along Drift’s spike shaft. His other hand was slick with lubricant, and with as aroused as Drift was, Ratchet could feel each twitch of his valve as the medic teased Drift’s overload closer.

“Ratchet!” Drift cried out, his cry followed by an audible groan.

Tasting another pulse of transfluid, Ratchet finally relented, letting Drift’s spike slide out of his mouth slowly. He sucked on the tip one last time, listening to Drift’s gasped pleas to be fragged, before sliding his fingers out of Drift’s valve as well. Ratchet moved forward so that he was over Drift, wet spike tip bumping against Drift’s tantalizing valve entrance.

“Treatment seems to be going well,” he murmured, kissing Drift gently. He kissed along Drift’s jawline, extremely mindful of the injury, and then down Drift’s neck. Grinning, a shudder rippling through his body, Drift lifted his hips in response. “Now, then…”

Bracing himself on the recharge bed, Ratchet pressed his spike into Drift’s valve. His groan quickly turned into a gasp, and Ratchet buried his face against Drift’s neck. He could hear the other ‘bot gasping something, Drift’s fingers clutching at his back, but all Ratchet could focus on was the incredible heat and tautness around his spike. He assuringly stroked the uninjured side of Drift’s face, working on keeping his senses in order.

“Slag it all, you are tight,” Ratchet groaned through gritted dentae.

A short, proud laugh was the response, and Drift pressed himself against Ratchet, listening to the medic curse under his breath as he slid his spike to the hilt into Drift. He was still clutching at Ratchet’s back, and Drift nuzzled his face against Ratchet’s.

Slowly and deliberately, Ratchet slid out of of Drift, stopping only to leave his tip in the ‘bot’s valve. He then slid back in with the same speed and deliberation, groaning as the wave of carnal satisfaction washed over him again.

“Hnn...that’s it!” Drift pleaded, arching his back as much as he could. “Please, Ratchet! Faster!”

“So impatient,” Ratchet gasped with a grin, feeling transfluid leak from his spike. “Have a little faith in medicine, would you?”

“I do..! I’ve complete faith in your capable hands!” Drift replied, writhing against Ratchet. “And...by the feel of it, quite capable...other attributes.”

“Hmn, I do try to keep my patient’s needs in mind.”

Pulling Ratchet down carefully, Drift pressed his lips against the medic’s, humming quietly. Ratchet’s glossa slipped across Drift’s lips, the medic nipping teasingly at Drift’s bottom lip. He lightly touched the side of Drift’s face, fingertips grazing against the injury. Gingerly kissing where his fingertips had been, Ratchet caught Drift’s gaze. The other ‘bot had an excited, yet content, smile on his face, and he stroked the side of Ratchet’s face softly. Ratchet quickly kissed the palm of Drift’s hand, allowing himself to nuzzle his face into Drift’s hand.

“And is this about in line with at least a few of your dreams?”

“It’s better, far better,” Drift replied.

“Is it now?” Ratchet ended the question by kissing at the side of Drift’s neck, pressing himself into Drift, feeling the wonderful heat and tautness and hearing Drift’s pleased, slow moan.

Shivering, Drift relaxed back into the cushioning as much as he could. He could feel Ratchet slowly but surely increasing the pace of his thrusts, and Drift bucked against the medic when he felt his overload coil sharply. Ratchet felt it as well, when Drift’s valve momentarily tensed around his spike, and the medic finally gave in. He quickened his thrusts, smirking faintly at Drift’s excited cry, and wrapped an arm underneath Drift. Holding him steady, Ratchet continued the fervent, insistent pace, the tautness around his spike rapidly drawing his overload closer.

Whimpering audibly and clawing lightly at Ratchet’s back, Drift wrapped his legs around Ratchet’s waist, making it a bit easier for the medic to thrust in and out of him. Ratchet’s panted grunts of effort were matched by Drift’s excited cries, each one urging the medic on. His legs trembled in growing anticipation, and Drift once again bucked against Ratchet with a short cry. His overload was right at the edge of breaking free, and Drift clutched tightly at Ratchet’s back.

“Ratch-oh-Ratchet!” Drift gasped, his fingertips catching on the edge of Ratchet’s armor.

His free hand had a proverbial death grip on the cushioning, and Ratchet made guttural groan as he fought to keep his overload at bay. He was determined to bring Drift to overload first, as his wouldn’t be far behind, but slag it all if Drift wasn’t making it difficult. Each moan, cry, and pulse only beckoned Ratchet’s overload a little closer, and the medic made a low curse, trying to keep from overloading.

“Drift…!” Ratchet hissed, the cushioning bunching up in his fist.

“Ratchet!” Drift’s voice took on a tone of excitement and surprise as he felt his overload start to peak. “I’m-I’m-!”

“That’s it! That’s it!”

Drift bucked sharply against Ratchet, his valve tightening suddenly. His head snapped back as Drift cried out, pulses of transfluid smattering against his midsection with each wave of his overload. Fingers dragging down Ratchet’s back, Drift gasped out the medic’s name repeatedly, his legs wrapped tightly around Ratchet’s waist. He lifted his hips as much as his ecstasy-gripped body would allow, Drift wanting to feel Ratchet’s spike buried in his taut valve for the extent of his overload. Ratchet moaned Drift’s name loudly, and the medic kissed the side of Drift’s neck, panting audibly. Drift’s senses raced along with the carnal rush that hammered through his circuits, and again Drift bucked sharply against Ratchet.

Ratchet could hold back no more, and when Drift bucked against him a second time, a short cry that he couldn’t stifle pulled itself from Ratchet’s vocal processor. Sensors flared and his overload snapped free with an intensity the medic hadn’t anticipated, and he thrust roughly into Drift. Each wave of his overload pulsing into Drift, Ratchet made another growled cry as he heard Drift cry out his name again. His fingers dug into the cushioning sharply as Ratchet made another, shuddering thrust into Drift, the action garnering another wave of transfluid. Gasping roughly, Ratchet made a low cry as he felt the last of his overload leave him.

Drift had already started to relax back into the cushioning, and Ratchet had to slide his arm from underneath Drift so he could quickly support himself on both, now shaking, arms. His gaze was down as the medic fought to regain his senses. Smiling tiredly, Drift reached up and lovingly touched the side of Ratchet’s face. The medic looked up, and at seeing Drift’s smile, managed a faint one of his own. He leaned down as carefully as he could, gently kissing Drift.

“It seems my patient responded well to treatment,” he murmured.

“And it was far better than I could have ever dreamed up,” Drift replied with a grin, his fingertips tracing along the edges of Ratchet’s helm.

Allowing himself to be pulled down for another, long kiss, Ratchet pulled back and glanced over Drift’s transfluid spattered body.

“We should get you cleaned up before you recharge,” he commented softly.

“Oh, yes...yes, we should,” Drift replied, laughing sheepishly.

Reluctantly withdrawing from Drift with a low grunt, Ratchet climbed off the recharge bed. Exhaustion was fast getting a hold in him, and the medic had to brace himself against the wall. He offered his other hand to Drift, who shakily managed to scoot off the recharge bed.

“Here. Get in the tub,” Ratchet said, motioning to the washroom.

Obliging, a sleepy, but quite pleased grin still on his features, Drift stepped into the tub, Ratchet holding him steady as he did so. Resisting the urge to just collapse in the tub, Drift sat down and looked over at Ratchet, who had already knelt down and started the water running. It was pleasantly warm, and Drift had half a mind to ask if he could just recharge in the tub, instead.

But that would have meant that Ratchet wouldn’t be at his side. Of course, would he allow Drift to stay the night?

Carefully cleaning Drift off, Ratchet glanced up at the ‘bot. He noticed that Drift’s smile had faded slightly, and was now laced with concern.

“Something the matter?” Ratchet asked quietly, not stopping in cleaning off Drift.

“Would you...would you allow me to stay the night?”

Pausing only for a moment, Ratchet leaned over and kissed the side of Drift’s face.

“Of course. I need to keep an eye on my patient to make sure the treatment works, now don’t I?”

Drift’s contented smile returned, this time with a bit stronger, and he leaned against Ratchet, nuzzling his face against the medic’s shoulder. Ratchet sighed softly, his faint smile still on his features, and he finished cleaning up Drift. Finishing rinsing off the ‘bot, Ratchet looked down at Drift. Had it not been for the smile, Ratchet would have assumed that Drift had already initiated his recharge cycle.

“Drift,” Ratchet murmured gently. “No dozing off on me just yet.”

Nodding, Drift glanced over his body, then slowly stood up, keeping a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder to steady himself. Guiding Drift back to the recharge bed, Ratchet tidied up the cushioning as Drift watched him with a sleepy smile. Once he had finished, the medic turned to Drift, who wrapped his arms around Ratchet’s waist and kissed him softly.

“Thank you, doc.”

Ratchet nodded in response and lay back on the recharge bed, coaxing Drift to follow. He needed to only do so once, and Drift curled up close to Ratchet’s side, draping an arm over his chest. Ratchet gently stroked Drift’s arm, watching as the ‘bot initiated his recharge cycle with a deep sigh. Scooting as close to Ratchet as he could, Drift finally relaxed completely, his systems going into the soothing, low-powered state.

Watching Drift for a few minutes, Ratchet continued to run his hand softly along Drift’s arm before relenting and relaxing against the cushioning. Setting his hand against Drift’s back, as though to wordlessly assure him through the recharge cycle, Ratchet initiated his own recharge cycle as he held Drift close.

His pesky, loving little patient, Drift.


End file.
